you can lay with me so it doesn't hurt
by Somewhat Quirky
Summary: He doesn't know much about her, really, beyond the fact that she hates her sister and loves the liberal side of anything. He has been trained against her type all his life; she grew up with the money, the looks, the blood traitor views – all of it would make his father sick. He should be running but all he can seem to do is pull her closer.


**Author's note:** they're fascinating. They're also not mine.

_you can lay with me so it doesn't hurt_

She doesn't know what they did to him that has him waking up in a cold sweat every night, but she doesn't want to make him relive it even once more, so she doesn't ask. On this particular evening, she can't see any of the stars in the sky through a gap in his curtains. It could all be blackness – the world could have dissolved – and neither would have known. His hair is drenched at the scalp and from behind she can see his chest heaving in the candlelight.

"Draco…"

His name escapes her lips in so tender a tone that he doesn't jump. He doesn't even start. This is progress. It has to be.

She sits up in bed, the straps of her lace nightdress falling from her shoulders. Her dark hair is a heavy mane and it spills over her face as she moves to sit beside him. It's colder than it should be, colder than she imagined. Her exposed arms and legs are covered with gooseflesh, but she doesn't mind.

Her hand on his arm makes him turn, and their eyes interlock.

"This was a mistake," he says. There's a pause and then he explains, "You shouldn't be here. I don't know why I ever asked you to come. I don't know why we ever… we shouldn't have done… This isn't right. This is so wrong."

Her eyebrows furrow. "I came here of my own volition. There certainly isn't anything wrong with that."

He sniffs and shakes his head. "No, but there's something wrong. I can't believe that you don't see it. You're Daphne Greengrass's little sister." His eyes have glazed over, and she can't tell if he's thinking of her or of a time long, long lost. "I used to hate her."

"You and me both," Astoria murmurs, nudging him in an attempt at humour. Any trace of it dies in his throat.

"She was a blood traitor. Your entire family was. Daphne never said anything, but Pansy always knew. And you… you're her sister. You shouldn't have come here. You shouldn't be here with me. You shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"I'm not good. I thought I was, for a while – I thought I was good and strong and important because – because – " He falters. " – _He_ needed me. He needed _me_ – and no one else could do it. But then – I couldn't… I couldn't either."

She wants to extend a hand, but does not wish to force his. "Draco, you've told me this."

"No but that's another thing wrong!" he insists. "I haven't told anyone! I haven't told anybody about any of this. Mother doesn't talk about it. Father barely speaks at all. None of the others…" He sighs. "But you – why _you_? Why can you get it out of me? Why do I trust you?"

Watching him intently, she suggests, "Perhaps that's because you knew that if I wanted to leave I would never have come."

"That's a lie."

"No it isn't!" She yanks on his arm with such force that he is pulled back onto the bed entirely. "Why do you do that?" she demands. "Why do you insist that I don't want to be here? Why don't you think anybody can ever love you?"

He shoots her a bitter glance. "You don't love me."

"You won't let me!"

"Astoria – "

She leaps forward, her lips pressed hard against his. There is a moment that follows in which he does not respond; he simply allows her to hold herself against him – but this moment is quickly in embers. His hands wind around her and then his shirt is lost and then so is her nightdress and it's skin on skin and she does not want him to forget that she is here, that she does not intend to leave him, no matter how much he tells her otherwise.

"Why did you come here?" he whispers against her neck.

"Because you need me," she replies. "You need someone to keep you from yourself, and I volunteer."

She kisses him again, poignantly. "I will love you as long as you let me."

He tries to object, to tell her she cannot love him because he is battered and broken, and she cannot throw around such notions as love because nobody he knows has ever done such a thing, and it is surely the years he has over her that make him see this way, and the years she lacks that make love seem like a possibility, but the words do not escape his lips, for they are more focused on the dips and curves of Astoria herself.

He doesn't know much about her, really, beyond the fact that she hates her sister and loves the liberal side of anything. He has been trained against her type all his life; she grew up with the money, the looks, the blood traitor views – all of it would make his father sick. He should be running but all he can seem to do is pull her closer.

She knows she cannot kiss away his nightmares, but damn it she can try.

She is whole and he is not, but he was once, and Astoria believes in cycles. She also believes in music and stars and working hard to get places, but Draco has never had much time for any of those things. She's sure she will force him to make some, not now but at some point in the future, because now is so precious that it cannot be shared with anyone or anything. She loves him, and she'll throw around that word how she likes.

Much, much later, when his hand is on her hip and she is fast asleep, Draco decides that if there is going to be anyone to make him believe the world is built on more than distress and decay, it may as well be her.


End file.
